Ashes
by Dark Lupina
Summary: [Aphrodite x Deathmask, POV, Yaoi] Its like a wound that never mends. When its almost healed, it opens again, for bleeding and aching and remembering you that you are damned until the end of the time.


**Disclaimer:** The current text its a fan fiction based on the japanese animated series Saint Seiya, only for entertainment, with no personal gains. The series, as all his characters belong to Masami Kurumada.

**o.O.o**

The cards in his hand were splashed away through the room, one for each side, with a dry sound against the table.

In turn of getting scared, I laugh, I was already waiting for that. Tequila and poker never ends without a scene of "look how I am macho", and it usually comes earlier when he is losing.

Seeing me laugh, he tries to hit me, but I hold his fist, containing myself for not breaking his hand. I must be useful for making him feel strong, in his poor little head... Fuck the doll and spank her when I feel humiliated, how easy, do not is?

-Release me...! – he growls.

Angelo... AN-GE-LO. I don't know who gave him this name, but this one doesn't make any idea about his destiny in life. Not for charm he uses that stupid nickname all his life. Who is going to take serious an assassin named angel, anyways?

-Everything it s so easy for you, do not is?? – my growl now, but to my ears it seems more like a snake slithering.

His eyes turn smaller when he faced me. In a alcoholic voice, the answer came, spited on my face:

-Are you talking about what, you fag?

He sets himself free with a punch, who almost put me down. Showed me his back and I laugh again, and I keep on laughing even if I don't know the reason of doing that, when all I really wanted was tear those pretty brown eyes with my nails and cry, and prove something that I don't know surely what was.

-"Fag"... – I murmured, in my best tone of scoff and disdain. – You don't go talk with your bitches on the port this week for renewing your supply of offences?

Only turned his head for me, in a side-stare full of hate sparks. Hate of what? The hell I care... But it had an "it" of hurt pride, who only make me laugh more.

Man... A **truly** man. But this man doesn't admitted that day and never will, that a "fag" with maiden face was digging on his chest to find his heart. And would eat it until the last piece, for drinking his blood after, this if the devil doesn't complained the souls of none of us before the end of everything.

-My life its not for your business, and shut up. – told me, trying to get me in fear.

I must be pathetic when I am drunk, I guess, because I end up laughing again, discovering a countless pleasure in watching the confuse expression on his face while seeing me doing that, and his raising hate for not understand it.

-The hell with your life! – might this things of disdain hurts? – I never asked you this shit, I know perfectly how your life is. Cut some unlucky heads for spending time, scare some learners, fuck some bitches from the port, fuck the "fag" here to vary, feel guilty for fucking a "fag", hit the "fag" for discount the hate...

Flesh noise. Its how I name the noise produced by kicks and punches. And was flesh noise what his fist makes against my face, this time putting me down.

And he laughs so, making me taste my own poison. But it was a slow, bitter laugh.

The laugh of someone who is close to cry.

-You know nothing about my life, hear me? – again, the growl between the teeth of an angry dog. – NOTHING!

Well, I had touched in some place who must ache, must really ache. Because a Gold Saint, like us, can hold the hugest pains, and after some time, even this hugest pains cant make us cry. Unless that some really huge pain still exists, and he should have some of them, because his sad and bitter laugh doesn't take too much time to turn in a low and contained cry.

A small stripe of blood was dripping from my lips, resulted from the punch. When I up my eyes, trying to understand what was going on, once again he was showing me his back, and seemed to try to end his tears.

Why he doesn't get out for crying alone, Goddess? I would do it... I must never forgave myself if I cried in front of him, he surely never leave me in peace for this moment of weakness. Or is it something that I do?

For a second, I almost wanted to cheer him. This if I don't know that probably he would punch me again. And more, why should I cheer this one who loves treat me as his toy? But I don't laugh of his sadness, only said a thing who makes a lot o sense...

-Who stays above its a "fag" too, my dear Angelo...

He came against me once, and raised me with violence of the ground, by the collar of my shirt, tearing it and hurting my neck.

I would not allow him to let me scars again, and so I fight him back. My knees meet his stomach, my nails, the skin of his face. And even when he closed his hands with all his strength around my throat, I don't stop hitting him.

Sometimes I wish I could surrender my beauty, the most holy thing I have, if something in this world could make die all the weird things that I feel about him.

Its like a wound that never mends. When its almost healed, it opens again, for bleeding and aching and remembering you that you are damned until the end of the time.

Buried my fingers and nails on his hands, widening the tide rope where he putted me. With the little breath who came back to my lung, I whisper:

-Are you going to kill me...? Killing me is going to kill your shame?

While minutes who seemed like hours, he keeps on trying to suffocating me. I fight back while I had strength, but when the air escaped me, for telling the truth, I get the conclusion of how would be wonderful die by his hands...

-Was waiting more from you... – he said, wiping his eyes, full of anger, when he finally released me.

Breathing hardly, I touched de aching purple marks on my neck, thinking about those words.

-Why? Why things must be like this, or I die, or you?

-I hate you... – and opened a window, for smoking his cigarette.

Hate you... I had to laugh again.

-Hate me... Hahahaha... Hate me so much to play poker with me every thursday, and to open the window for smoke because you know that I hate de smell of your cigarettes... Hate me so much that when we fight you stay there, almost exploding of anger, as waiting me to say sorry... Waiting me to cheer you.

He kept his eyes fixed in the darkness outside while listening me talk. I will never know what passed in his head, in that moment. But it changed a lot of things between us.

-Quiet, always quiet... Words are not your best. – I continued. – I have my reasons for being what I am, you have yours. I don't care about what are your reasons, just put it on your head, stupid italian, that anything we are for each other, its because we are the same. We could only count one in another...

My last sentence comes out whispered, close to his ear. The hard muscles from his wide back, well designed under his black t-shirt, turned wider with a heavy and long breath, containing after, in a subtle way, when my hands touched them.

-What I am for you? – asked me, in a voice tone that surely he doesn't wanted to seem so lonely.

-A poison... – left my hands crawl slowly until his chest. – A poison with an ugly mark on the bottle, made to scare, but I taste it and saw it was sweet... And now it is killing me. Sometimes I don't want to die, I want to see where this poison its supposed to bring me. But sometimes the idea of dying seems as sweet as tasting it…

A smoke breath, two, he and his fucking cigarette... This silence its the worst thing on him. Of punches, kicks and offences I know how to fight back, but not of the silence, of this sensation of being ignored... Sometimes I am almost sure, he makes it for weak me.

I hate when I end this way...

-Tell me... What I am for you, so? – I asked him, close to his ear again.

The answer, the answer... Being forced against the wall and kissed in a hungry, desperately way, drives me crazy, but isn't an answer.

Dizzy, already burning inside, I made an effort to apart my lips from his. Put my eyes on his eyes, enquiring.

-Tell me...

-DAMN IT! – he exploded, taking me by the hair, pulling my head back. – What is the fucking answer do you want form me?!

I saw despair on him. I saw pain. Things that generally delight me in others, specially in my enemies, but not on him, not in that intensity, too strong.

Him, it in part causes me mercy, in part scares me. But was not there and never will be when I down my head for it.

-That you cant live without your "fag", here...

One punch on my face, two, three, and I laugh. Goddess, it was almost a hysteric scene... He gets tired and I fight back, marking more with my nails his already marked face, pushing him until he fells, for using him as my sand bag, this time.

One kick for every kick that you gave me. A scratch for all the times that you treat me with disdain. One punch, no, better two, for all the times that you tried to humiliate me, that you feel more male than me, only because I let you stay above.

And a kiss... Yes, a kiss. Because I love you and you will never know it, because my biggest shame its feeling locked to you this way.

And also, in the day that I admit it for you, you can cut my head and put in your collection. Because in this day I will really wish to be dead.

**o.O.o**

Well... I am not a native English speaker, and have no one to review this text before put it here, but I hope you enjoy, as long as you ignore my mistakes...

_This is my first fan fiction about Aphrodite and Deathmask, and I tried to get closer to his personalities in the anime series, nor the things I read on the brazillian fandom, where we have an Aphro acting like a little angel, and DM is just an italian nice guy._

_They are bad! They are violent! They are man! And I tried to showed it here…_

_This fic was inspired in the lyric of the Pain of Salvation s song "Ashes". LISTEN IT! Is the perfect "love theme" (XD) for this couple!_

_Well, now, I guess…_

_Look! A pink elephant wearing a lolita dress!_

_(points and run away)_

Dark Lupina 


End file.
